All The King's Horses
by Calm Soul
Summary: Ginny Weasley only cries once. Once, a year.


_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, and several others that do not include me. I am simply 'borrowing' the characters and the storyline.

_Pairings_: GWHP, slight HGRW, implied one-sided GWNL, implied MCGW, implied DTGW, slight FWAJ, CCHP, and LLGW.

_Warnings_: OOC, ANGST, hetero, hinted femmeslash, spoilers, and UNintentional character bashing.

The scenes are NOT in order, so if you get confused, you can be reassured you won't be the only one. And even if you followed the parts in order, it still jumps around a bit.

* * *

_**All The King's Horses**_

* * *

…_Well summer dies and nothing last forever  
__And you're so fine girl  
__The way you stand up to your fears  
__Summer dies and its just moments we have together  
__I'd give my bones for you to get a few more years…_

Vanessa Carlton, "Annie"

* * *

Her mum does everything in sixes.

When Ginny thinks about it, she thinks that it really makes a lot of sense in a way that is impossible to understand. Her mummy used to have six children to look after and boss; her mummy used to have six clock hands she would check every six minutes (she would daddy's every six hours); and mummy used to have six jumpers to knit.

Her mum used to have everything, before she came along.

Seven is supposed to be the lucky number. That is one of the rare things that both muggles and magic folk know. Ginny doesn't really believe in things like that, but she would give the earth and stars for her mother to. But even she knows it would take a lot more than the whole universe for her mother to treat her differently.

It wasn't (and still isn't) that her mummy really treated her badly. She didn't really. She acted like any other ordinary mother who fussed over her baby girl more than she did with boys. Her mummy would always play with Ginny's hair, always make her wear the cutest sort of robes and dresses, and always forbid her to roll in the mud or play quidditch with the boys because she was "too young" or "too busy with chores" or something else.

Truth be told, Ginny loved it. Her mummy poured and lathered and never rinsed her attention on her, and she seemed to pay her the most. Perhaps it was because Ginny was the youngest, or perhaps it was because Ginny was the only girl in the family. Whatever the reason was, neither one really cared. It just turned into a ritual: mummy always giving her the most attention and she always lavishing it.

It was too bad that always was never forever.

It started around the time when Ginny started going to Hogwarts. She loved it of course, there was never a student that didn't (and this included even the moody Slytherins and shy Hufflepuffs). It was like a second home to her. Especially when there were problems with her first.

Her mummy started changing. At the start of her first year, mummy was perfectly normal, always sending her letters everyday, eventually becoming fewer. It wasn't Ginny's fault she was busy being friends with Tom. Tom was just _there _for her. Mummy was so far away, and Ginny just wasn't up to writing back a response to every single letter. Tom was just a really nice friend. He listened to her, talked to her, and comforted her.

He comforted her on Christmas day.

That was the day mummy forgot to send her a traditional Weasley jumper.

The day mummy became mum, because Ginny just couldn't (mentally) stand saying mummy with the 'my' in the word any longer. Any longer.

* * *

She remembers hating Sirius Black.

It was not a really feeble hate that can disappear very quickly either. It was the sort of hate that cut deep and long and invaded your systems with hot and burning fire the color of the reddest star, and was just almost impossible remove. Ginny was able to though. Perhaps not with the best of effort, and there are still sparks of rage, but it's gone.

Sort of. Whenever Ginny thinks about it, really thinks about it, she thinks that Sirius's death might have a lot to do with it. And his animagus form. Or maybe not.

Her uncle Billius died twenty four hourslater after seeing a grim.

She was a baby when it happened, but her mother certainly told her the story enough times (Billius was mother's favorite brother. She had only one) that Ginny had the whole thing memorized in her mind. She can even remember how mum would tell it, tears and sobs and gulps and laughs. No wait, just the sobs and wails and gulps.

"_Y-Your Uncle Billius was w-walking home o-one day after a l-long hard day at work. He used to work at the Department of M-Mysteries you know? Anyway, he was coming home to his place w-when he saw huge sparks c-coming from a part of the v-village, s-so he went and in-investigated the s-scene. _

_A-A-And he saw P-Peter Pettigrew f-f-fighting with S-S-Sirius B-Black, and l-losing. It w-was a very good thing that B-Billius was j-just f-far away enough that he wasn't m-m-murdered by B-Black and managed to be one of the w-w-witnesses. _

_B-But just the day a-after h-he saw a b-big b-black th-thing run p-past him. And he knew it w-was the G-Grim. T-T-Twenty f-four hours Billius d-d-d-"_

For all the many times mum has told her the tale, she's never managed to finish the end of that sentence.

It hurts her a bit, to know that Sirius wasn't the Grim (she is sure of that, no matter how much evidence points otherwise) because then she might actually have a real person to put the blame on, to blame someone for the tears her mum had cried over the uncle she never knew. Perhaps a dead person, but Ginny doesn't respect the dead. It's her odd way of rebelling. Not that anyone actually notices.

So she remembers hating Sirius Black.

And she remembers hating herself much more, with a hate that has **never** gone away.

* * *

Neville's a really clumsy dancer. He holds her in an awkward position with his arms slung over her shoulder, and whenever the music comes on he never really seems to follow the beat. Not to mention that he always manages to step on her feet no matter how she moves.

Regardless of his clumsiness, Ginny can't think of a better dance partner. For once, with being in the arms of her close friend, she didn't really care about being second choice, or having the second hand dress, or even that her second best friend isn't even there (she'll feel guilty about Luna later).

It's just her, just him, and just the lullaby.

If she looks just slightly over Neville's shoulder –something that isn't really hard to accomplish, as the boy is only one inch taller– she can see her brother Fred and his date Angelina prance around the dance floor and make it their territory. The beat is fast, and she and Neville are really the only two people that are slow dancing in the smallest corner, but Ginny doesn't care. Fred always liked to show off more than George, it should be his night.

If she looks just slightly over Neville's shoulder, she can see Fred's other half prancing his own way through the dance floor as well, stopping a minute or two to dance with a girl then leave for another. He sort of strays in the background, and Ginny can tell George is letting Fred have his spotlight. It's wonderful, how they understand themselves that way.

Ginny would give anything to have someone understand her like that.

If she looks just slightly over Neville's shoulder, she can see Hermione sitting at a table with Victor Krum, trying to get him to pronounce her name right. Ginny smiles slightly, remembering how everyone (but her) looked surprised when the brunette walked was seen with the Triwizard contestant. For once, it was the others that were left out of the loop, and she is thankful for that.

And if she looks just sideways from Hermione and Krum's table, she can see her other brother Ron and Harry Potter, most probably talking about Hermione and her Yule Ball partner. But-

But they aren't there. She can't see them.

Where could they be?

"Excuse me Neville," She tries to pardon herself, giving a small smile to her dance partner. He smiles back, because he understands what she wants to do. Perhaps not her exact reasons and actions, but he understands enough and gives her the room she needs.

Ginny picks her dress up and tries to run through the ballroom, avoiding the dancing couples from left and right, except she can't. They keep pressing into her and shoving and moving into her, like she isn't _even there_. So, she has to keep the rhythm, has to move through the floor like George, with grace and charm.

And Ginny does it, which makes everything a little easier. Apparently, she's just as good as an actor as her brothers. She almost makes it out of the door-

But then Michael Corner steps out in front of her, and Ginny is forced to skid to an immediate and jerking halt that destroys the entire rhythm altogether.

"Hi! You're Ron's sister, right?" asks the boy, a jovial smile on his face and a confident arch of his eyebrow.

Ginny just wants to rip off that stupid expression and storm right out the door while she still can. But all she says is, "My name is Ginevra Weasley. You can call me Ginny," putting on a smile so small that she doesn't have to fake it.

"Ginny. That's a nice name." Corner gives a grin too big and holds out a hand for an invitation that she isn't too sure she should accept. "Would you like to dance Ginny?"

Glancing helplessly over his shoulder, Ginny can't help but try to see if her brother and his best friend are there. But she still can't see them (and she isn't surprised). So she turns back to Corner, feeling a sudden rage and exasperation. She wants to hurt him, but she can't. So Ginny does the next best thing.

She takes his hand and says, "Yes."

But Ginny can't get the brilliant green eyes out of her mind and soul.

* * *

When Neville kisses her, it's all small chaste brushes that only signify platonic feelings but she can't help but pretend they mean much more. He gives them to her for good luck before a Quidditch match or exam, right on the cheek, and he also gives them to Luna. Ginny just wishes they'd be filled with passion and on her lips.

It was not that she wanted Neville per say.

It was that she wanted passion.

When Michael kisses her, it's all _made_ of passionate and hard kisses that leave her breathless, only for all the wrong reasons. His kisses always seem to ask for something she can't give, no matter how hard she tries. Michael gives her kisses as soon as he sees her, or vice versa. Those are the times she just wants to be blind. All Ginny wants is for Michael's kisses to have affection and not to become hard snogs.

It was not that she didn't want Michael. Not really anyway.

It was just that she wanted affection.

When Dean kisses her, it's all of the affection in the world that is put into those kisses. They linger on her lips, long and soft that make her smile. But Dean is just like that, sweet and shy. Like Neville, except not, because Neville never looks at her like Dean does. But Ginny thinks that maybe she doesn't need those looks. She just wants to have something different.

She just wants to _need_ something different.

And Dean-

Dean isn't different.

* * *

_Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
__Hair as black as the blackboard  
__I wish he was mine, he's a real ravine  
__The hero who destroyed the Dark Lord_

_What do you think Tom?_

Ginevra, what have I told you about using my name?

_Oh right. Sorry. How was it Mr. Riddle?_

Well, the poem could use some work. Might I suggest saying, "He's really divine," instead of, "He's a real ravine?" I think that might be a better wording for it. Try it Ginevra.

_Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
__Hair as black as the blackboard  
__I wish he was mine, he's really divine  
__The hero who destroyed the Dark Lord_

_Wow Mr. Riddle that actually does sound a lot better. You're a really good poet._

I try. But there does seem to be something…missing. We'll figure it out later.

* * *

She covers her ears and wishes that all the noise would go away. Hot, thick tears are rolling down her face and onto her chin, but she takes no notice.

Ginny can hear everybody talking, everybody telling, everybody **screaming**. Why does no one learn to whisper anymore? They're all giving her a buzz around her ears, and she can't hear anything if she wanted to. And she doesn't want to.

The redhead can't even remember how she even got here in the first place. Everything is such a huge blur to her. She doesn't know what's going on. Why is her father here? Why is her mother here? Why is Ron here? Why is Harry Potter here? Why is Dumbledore here? Why isn't MR. RIDDLE HERE?

She just wants Mr. Riddle. Mr. Riddle was a good friend. Mr. Riddle was a nice friend. He never hurt her. He never tried to shout at her, to scream at her, to manipulate her. But where is Mr. Riddle? Ginny just wants him back here, to comfort her, to take her away from the buzzing. The buzzing that will not stop.

Why won't it stop?

Ginny just wants her Mr. Riddle, so that he can takeher so very faraway. But he isn't there, so she has to wail. So she has to sob. So she has to cry. So she has to cry for herself, because he isn't there to cry for her. Not that Ginny's ever seen Mr. Riddle cry before.

But everyone cries.

Right?

* * *

"I'm over him." There is a distinct look of something in Hermione's eyes, but Ginny doesn't want to look at it. She's too busy trying to convince her. Her and herself.

"Are you sure Ginny?" asks Hermione, cocking her head to the side with a Look on her face. It's the sort of look a grownup will give a child, like they know something the child doesn't, and Ginny hates it. She's not a child anymore. When will they learn that? When will she learn that?

Ginny wants to scream out into the brunette's face, and yell that Hermione maybe the smartest girl in the entire school, and that Ginny would bet all the galleons in the world that the brunette will become Head Girl, but all she really does is smile very tightly and say, "I'm sure."

But Hermione refuses to stop pestering her, and just arches a long eyebrow and twitches the slight corner of her mouth.

"Are you really sure you're over him Ginny?"

"Yes. Besides, I-" Don't need you pestering me. Don't need you bothering me. Why will you not leave me alone? Why can I not be old enough for you? I just want you all to leave me alone. "-am dating Michael Corner."

Hermione gives her a blank look, as if not sure what to think anymore. She should join the club. "Who's that?"

And Ginny just smiles softer, takes in Hermione's expression and answers, "I met him at the Yule Ball," as if that explained every little thing about everyone. Perhaps it does. But Hermione would never know this, and for once Ginny holds the knowledge.

So she smiles, and thinks of a lightning bolt scar.

* * *

When Neville first read the story by Rita Skeeter on "Hermione, The Scarlet Woman," it would be safe to say that he turned quite scarlet himself.

When Luna first read the story by Rita Skeeter on "Hermione, The Scarlet Woman," it would be safe to say that she frowned just slightly and muttered about Quibblers and Prophets.

When Ginny first read the story by Rita on "Hermione, The Scarlet Woman," it would be mad and dangerous to say that she threw her head back and laughed long and hard. Mad and dangerous, but very true.

She skims the first paragraph with the introduction about the Trio-Turned-Triangle, and starts a small chuckle that only her friends notice. Then she reads about the part where Skeeter tells them all about Hermione's affairs with her brother's friend and Krum, and she giggles just loud enough to attract probing looks from strangers.

But then she reads about Hermione and Love Potions, and a big great laugh just bubbles right out of her, shocking and appalling everyone but Luna and Neville (they know her far too well it seems). Ginny doesn't stop though, just laughs and laughs and laughs herself hoarse.

Parvati and Lavender are staring at her with shock in their eyes, but Ginny doesn't notice. Colin and Daniel are staring at her with wonder in their eyes, but Ginny takes little notice. Susan and Hannah are staring at her with puzzlement in their eyes, but Ginny only spares them a look. Neville and Luna are looking at her with smiles in their eyes, so she only has eyes on them.

But Ron and Hermione and Harry aren't looking at her at all, and that makes her feel as if she isn't even there. For her, that just kind of defeats the whole entire purpose of it now, doesn't it?

"Why," she asks after she has caught her breath, "why is everyone staring at me?"

Her only response is silence, and that was the way it remained until the end of the day.

But it's not like Ginny notices. She's too busy laughing at the article about Hermione, and everyone else. Because Hermione is no Scarlet Woman (as her brother puts it), and she never could be.

But it's not like anyone else notices.

* * *

Ginny's hair is a tad bit long for someone her age. Her mother tried to cut it at age four, but it grew right back to her shoulder the next day (witch tendencies) so the woman just gave up entirely and let it grow. When Ginny thinks about herself, she thinks that her hair is her best feature, which is honestly saying something.

Her hair isn't really all that ordinary, nor is it really something particular amazing and wonderful. At age thirteen, it hangs around her lower waist, and curls just slightly at the ends, but it's still quite normal since it's quite straight and still a huge tangled mess. But it's the color of it that stands out the most.

It's the traditional Weasley red, but on her, it looks like a long and _bloody_ sea of scarlet.

It matches the color of her dress robes. Perhaps it's not the most wonderful of combinations, but blue and red have always seemed nice together. And Ginny doesn't really pull it off, but she doesn't particularly care.

"I think you'd look very nice in them Ginny," Luna tells her with a smile the very first time Ginny shows the clothes to the blonde girl. Luna doesn't lie very often –and when she does, it's in a long and deep voice that doesn't sound like her– so Ginny just smiles back.

Because in her plain blue dress robes that are nothing like Hermione's periwinkle ones (but that's okay, because even Hermione needs to be fancy sometimes), and tangled red hair that can't even dream of matching Padma's braids, she –for once– refuses to become a princess.

So she runs down the stairwell to see Neville's big and fumbling smile upon her, and she stops on the last stop step to pause for the moment and feel like a queen (for the night).

* * *

The girl's bathroom smells like burnt candles, even though Ginny knows that none of the Prefects have ever performed ceremonies in it. The girl's bathroom smells of death and tears, even though Ginny knows that none of the Prefects have ever cried or killed. At least, she _thinks_ no Prefect haven't cried or died.

Ginny opens the door to the girl's bathroom, and walks very slowly down the floor, clutching a blue little book in her hand and the other in a fist. Wearing a blank expression that seems to fit her so well, she strides down the wet (?) floor and walks past all the bathroom stalls. All that is, except the very last one. The seventh one.

See, Ginny has a-a sort of _fixation_ on the number seven. It's a deep and untainted fixation, but Sweet Merlin is it deep.

But then, what isn't?

So when Ginny reaches for the doorknob, she grabs it slowly and takes a moment to savor the cold metal pressed against her suddenly flushed skin. And when she turns the doorknob, she turns it _very _slowly so that she can hear sound filling in the silent (except for that ghost's crying) bathroom.

But then Ginny opens the door quite quickly because she can hear Moaning Myrtle's wailing and it bothers her ears quite a bit. Ginny doesn't like crying, but out of common courtesy she refrains from slapping the ghost (who's transparent anyway). She also walks quite quickly into the bathroom too, stopping only for the moment step over a puddle. Ginny stops right in front of the toilet-

_Rips out a page-_

And drops the little black book into the toilet, and then flushes it. It does not go down.

Ginny walks away.

* * *

The very first time Harry kissed her, it was rather bland and well, downright awful. The boy had surprised (something that did not happen very often) her when he had-had-had practically collided his lips onto hers! Harry hadn't even held her really, just had his lips above hers and blank thoughts in his head. In hers too.

A small part of Ginny –the cynical and jaded side that really wasn't as small as others liked to think– felt the need to fling herself away from the black haired boy and run up into the dormitory. Or out of the common room. Just to somewhere far, far, far away from Harry. Why, does he always have to mess her up like that?

Another part of Ginny –the happy and innocent one with all the good dreams, and was much smaller than anyone cared to realize– felt the need to wrap her arms around the black haired boy and just kiss even harder into him. To press into him, to suffocate in him, to _drown _in him. Because it's not drowning if you're dreaming, and Ginny's small part has certainly gotten her dream.

To this day, Ginny has never really learned to understand either part of her.

The very second time Harry kissed her, it was rather different and well, much more real than expected. But Ginny was expecting it that time at least. Harry had taken her on an official date to Hogsmeade (just the two of them) and he kissed her in the Shrieking Shack.

Of all the places.

But really, Harry's second kiss was much better than his first. He did it slowly, by taking her hands in his and giving her a small and nervous look (Ginny giggles whenever she remembers it), then very slowly lowering his head just below hers, letting his warm (or cold, she couldn't tell) breath ghost over her lips. She wasn't quite sure just _why _Harry was being so slow, but then he captures her lips and she can't think anymore.

Not that she ever could.

It's very real, and Ginny finally knew that his breath was cold. So she lets that very small part of her –the happy and innocent one with all the good dreams, and was much smaller than anyone cared to realize– take over her and wrap her arms around his neck in delight. Because it's her dream come true, and it's so very **real**.

So when Ginny lets Harry hold her near to him, she always tells herself its real, that she's finally gotten what she wanted. And when he kisses her cheek for affection, she always tells herself its real, that she's finally gotten what she wanted. It is though, but whenever Ginny lets herself be told, it just gives her warmth that is somewhat like Harry's cold kisses.

But it's hard for her, to look past Dean's brokenhearted and anguished face (Ginny's always been too good for him) and have to tell herself that it _isn't_ real, that she was capable of hurting people. And it's even harder for her, when Ron looks at her with sense of brotherly pain and protection, because **she** made **him** grow up far too fast. Things like those aren't supposed to happen when you have your dream come true, but they do.

_Something is breaking inside her. _And she has no idea what.

* * *

Bill has scars all over him. From his face all the way down to his ankles, deep cuts and small slashes with bloody marks that disfigure his entire being. Ginny reaches across the hospital bed to grasp his hand for something other than comfort. You just don't ask comfort from a person attacked by a werewolf. Even if he is your brother.

Though many people might not know this, Ginny's favorite brother was –is– Bill. Fred and George are their own favorite jokesters, so she's never bothered to intrude (though she still thinks those Pygmy Puffs are still brilliant). Charlie's far too busy chasing those dragons, and she's never wanted to look at one since the First Task. Ron's got his Golden Trio, and that's enough to break her heart entirely.

But Bill was nice.

Bill was there.

Being "there" might have seemed like an awfully stupid reason, and it was for everyone else. But being "there" was something that she's always wanted. Tom was there, but not for her. Bill was there for _her_ though. He even taught her Quidditch (secretly of course), and that just sort of cinched the deal.

Bill isn't "there" for her now, but she grasps his hand anyway. Because this time, she wants to try and be there for him. And it's very strange though, how she used to hate Sirius Black –godfather to her crush and boyfriend, not to mention dead– who **didn't** destroy her uncle, but she CAN'T hate Fenrir Greyback, who's destroyed her favorite brother.

Ginny's just too tired to hate anymore. It's only a small exhaustion, but it's far too pure and unadulterated for her to fight. It takes over her entire _body _and the only thing that she has the energy for is to hold onto her brother's hand while all the other people talk around her. It doesn't make a buzzing anymore.

Besides, grays and blacks have always been her least favorite colors.

Bill's hand is warm.

* * *

"I don't really like Cho Chang that much," Luna breaths into her ear one day at lunch, where just the two of them will sit at the Great Hall together, at the very end of the Ravenclaw table, since the Gryffindor one is too crowded. Neville sits with Seamus and Dean.

"Hmm," Ginny says, combing her hand through Luna's long blonde locks of hair. They're not blonde per say, more like wheat blonde. But, they're a very soft kind of wheat, just the kind you want to run your hands through. It's like wisps of yellow. "Why not?"

"Well," Luna pauses, and turns her head very quickly a few degrees to the left, and makes her hair hit Ginny's face. But the redhead doesn't really mind. "Just look at them." The blonde gestures calmly towards the scene in front them.

Ginny looks over Luna's head to try and see whatever her friend sees. She sees it.

Cho and Harry are walking into the Great Hall with their hands wrapped around each other, brightly lit smiles upon their faces and a cheerful happy aura around them. They look _happy_ in _love_.

Ginny turns her head away, and the hand that isn't running through Luna's hair tries and curls into a fist.

"They seem happy enough. So, what's the matter?" Her voice is colored red, like the rest of her. She hopes that Luna isn't looking at her.

But the blonde isn't, she's just staring at the same spot that Cho and Harry were before. Luna's gaze doesn't move. "I know they're happy. That's the problem. Chang's stealing him."

The other hand curls too. "I didn't know you liked Harry."

Luna turns her head back to Ginny, and the redhead find herself looking into very murky kind of grayish eyes. "I don't." The blonde reaches across to grasp Ginny's knee, and her breath once again ghosts the other girl's face.

"I don't," she repeats.

Ginny takes her hand away from her friend's wispy hair.

* * *

10:15 is a lost time.

10:15 is a time that never happened.

10:15 is the time that the slow itching starts below Ginny's skin. 10:15 is the time she can feel her joints start to ache; her lips start to dry, and her knees threatening to buckle. 10:15 is the time Ginny can feel all her dreams starting to die inside her, shriveling up like some little black hole.

It's the time that Harry and Dumbledore return from their mission (she doesn't know what. Girlfriend to the Boy-Who-Lived and still no one tells her what is going on) and Snape climbs up the stairs.

She stands right behind him, standing in-between Neville and Ron, with Luna and Hermione joined at the sides; all of them waiting for orders from the Potion's Master. He doesn't give them any though, just _stalks _past them with the remaining Death Eaters (who don't seem to notice them either) right up the stairs, his cloak fluttering behind them.

At 10:15 Ginny's forehead feels clammy, and she gets the feeling that something wrong is happening. Her itching starts up again. And there's only one thing that helps. Well, it doesn't really help at all, but Ginny does it.

She walks very quietly away from the crowd, and goes to lie against the nearest wall she can find. It's very hard to see in the dark, so seems to bump into all the unconscious bodies lying on the floor. At one point Ginny thinks she's bumped into Bill's body and the sickening feeling in her stomach grows. She makes it to the wall.

And lying against the wall, Ginny drops down to the floor, her head falls to her knees, her arms are tied around her body, and she starts to scream her throat out. It's muffled though, so one can hear her.

At 10:16 Ginny starts to scream.

At 10:25 Ginny stops.

At 10:30 Ginny learns that Dumbledore has been proclaimed dead.

* * *

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad  
His hair as dark as a blackboard  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

_It sounds lovely Mr. Riddle._

I think that sounds a bit better. Changing the black to "dark" is a bit more poetic and gets the point across. Plus, "conquered" is a much better term for "destroyed."

_Well, the whole thing does sound much lovelier now that you've helped, and I really don't mean to sound impolite, since you always make the most wonderful of ideas, but; why do you think conquered is better than "vanquished?"_

Conquered means to win over; to control over; or to defeat. Destroyed means to defeat **completely**; or to kill. And no matter how many curses can backfire on Voldemort, Harry Potter can never be able to completely destroy him. He's just too powerful.

_But Harry's such a powerful wizard! I'm sure he'll be able to defeat the Dark Lord_.

No Ginevra, he WON'T. Voldemort can never be destroyed. You should know that. I've tried to teach you that enough times.

_I'm very sorry Mr. Riddle. You always seem to know so much about You-Know-Who. How do you know so much about him?_

Voldemort is a very important part of…me. I've always been fascinated by the kind of wizard he's been able to grow into. Voldemort…is my past, present, and future Ginevra.

* * *

The writing quill feels almost good in her hand. It's not quite molded to the contours of her palm, but it's the most comfortable quill she's ever touched, even without all those stupid issues of power involved. Besides, Ginny's always believed the sword is mightier than the pen.

But writing in pen is the muggle way, and since Ginny likes to stay as true to her heritage as she possibly can (and hearing Malfoy's jeering sneers and snobs about blood traitors have nothing to do with it), and writing with quills are probably the most basic of ways to do it.

Ginny dips her quill into the ink bottle, stops for a moment to clench her fingers around the feather, and drops it onto the paper so she can start to write.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thanks for saving me in the Chamber. I really appreciate it, being saved from Tom and all. Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Ginny Weasley_

The quill feels almost good in her hand, but by the time she's finished writing the very short note, it feels very limp. She doesn't like it all that much.

Ginny folds the parchment, seals it into the envelope, and throws it into the fire. She watches it burn to a crisp until there's only ash. It's the third attempt at her thank-you letter, and it's the sixteenth one she's burned.

* * *

Dumbledore's funeral is a rather odd affair. Ginny's only been to two funerals and those were of relatives she never even knew she had. But the headmaster's one is most different. It's a rather fancy and grand one, with more than half the school attending; along with certain members of the Ministry Ginny would rather NOT see.

It's a very fancy affair. And the only thing that really **feels **like Dumbledore is the students, and the body.

Ginny is sitting down in the front row, next to Hermione because the girl really seems to need the comfort and Ginny IS her friend, and because her brother is sitting next to Harry; even when he's downright smitten (not with Harry though). But Ginny can't really blame him, as Harry quite needs all the support he can get.

It was times like these that made her really miss Luna, who'd probably lighten up the damp mood by saying something about Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks or Blibbering Humdingers. But Ginny couldn't even see Luna's hair that morning. The girl was gone.

But Neville's there. He's really a nice boy, sitting a couple of rows down from them, with his grandmother next to him, both dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. Not that many boys actually have handkerchiefs, but yet everyone seems to crying. At least those loyal to Dumbledore are.

Seamus is crying down droplets of tears that would flow fuller if the boy wasn't trying to brush them all of with his hand. Hannah's tears are big great sobs that produce loud wails from the girl, and would have sounded annoying if anyone actually cared to listen. Ron's tears are little small pitter patters, but his eyes are so red Ginny can't see the blue in them. Hermione's are just as bad, except her eyes aren't blue.

Harry isn't really crying at all. He's just staring at Dumbledore's coffin, with those familiar brilliant green eyes that often pierce right through her. Except that now, they're staring right through a dead man's deathbed.

That's when she hears it. A low and deep flowing song that is somewhat different from that of a phoenix's. It sounds like a choir, and it **hits** something very deep in her. And it-it changes something very deep in her. It's the song of the merpeople, and it washes Ginny over like nothing else.

"Listen," she says.

For a moment, everyone seems to take the time and actually listen to her. Ginny can _feel_ them turning their ears toward the source of the noise; some of them finding it and some of them not (these were the people who just didn't hear her). Either way, it affects them all.

Neville clasps his hands together and bows his head down, as if he's trying to pray to the heavens above him. His tears continued to run. Seamus however, moves his hands away and lets his tears course freely down his cheeks. Hannah's sobs quiet down slightly, but one can still see the water on her skin. Hermione's and her brother's tears just stop entirely.

For Harry though, it looks like that whatever's hit her has hit him, and now there are tears coursing down his face too. They're perfect crystal clear tears, and Harry's eyes are still their brilliant green, which are still staring at Dumbledore. Even when he's supposed to be at his worst, he still looks beautiful.

Ginny-

Ginny cries only a second before.

* * *

"What?" It is not often she is taken by surprise, but this happens to be one of them.

Vane looks almost smug. "You heard me," she states, tossing some of her dark black hair behind her head. Ginny wants to rip it off.

"No." Silence. "I didn't."

"I asked you if Harry really has a tattoo of a Hippogriff on his chest." The girl taps her foot against the floor impatiently, making it go _tap tap tap. _Ginny doesn't notice.

Snorting, she flips her own hair over her shoulder. She's used to acting snotty, as she only learns from the best. Herself. "Why should I tell you?" Her lips are arched into a perfect sneer, and it scares her just a tiny bit at how good she is.

"Because." Vane's lips thin, and Ginny can see something in the girl's eyes. It looks a little like desperation, a little like pain, and a little like euphoria. "I have to know. Tell me!" Even though this is meant to be a command with force, it comes out uttered like a softly spoken request.

Ginny's lips curl into a smile. She recognizes what that look in Vane's eyes is. Puppy love. Bound to disappear any second, and stupid and often (in this case, it _is_) unrequited, but its puppy love. And it hurts.

She's familiar with it.

Ginny hitches her robe just a bit higher so it's more comfortable, and then shifts her foot slightly, before looking away from Vane. "He has a Hungarian Horntail on his chest. It suits him better." Ginny doesn't glance back as she walks away, knowing exactly the type of happy expression Romilda's face will burst into, and knowing she was the guilty cause of it.

It's easier to lie when you can't see the other person's face.

* * *

The air smells of aged paper, wood, and the melting wax from the burning candles sitting on her table. The thin streamers of smoke rise like offering, filling the sky with hazy wishes. She barely notices, long used to feeling time stop.

She writes with a quill again. She dips it into her ink bottle, and holds it just above the sheet of parchment, ripped from its original home. She has no idea what she is doing, and the feeling is familiar. It feels like her first year. It feels like the time she first opened a black book and wrote black words.

The ink is drying. Ginny moves quickly. Her hand moves quick, creating life filled with tension and fear, but she breathes it into her loops and symbols and circles, and in the end it forms the most important sentence to her.

_My name is Ginny Weasley._

She waits. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. There is no response. And in some deep little corner of the shadows in her mind, a feeling creeps and takes over her. And Ginny knows that this is not her first year anymore. It is her second.

Something inside her twitches, knowing that her small piece of unimportant paper was ripped out of her greatest dream-turned-nightmare. She feels a little dirty, a little clean, but she gets the feeling that it would be best to say something now.

Even if no one is there to hear you. But Ginny's always been speaking to the air, so it doesn't really makes a difference. Except, it always does since the word she's about to say is willing to change and manipulate her way of seeing _things._

"Tom." The word slips past her mouth. It sounds dry and real and abrupt. The paper falls to the ground, and is slowly soaking up the secrets written on her floors.

* * *

Ginny recognizes the look on Harry's face. She's seen her mum, her dad; her Bill, her Hermione, and her Luna wear it. It's the look when someone is about to do something that they _have_ to do, and not usually because they want to.

Her mum wore it during Ginny's mistake. Her dad wore it during Malfoy's reign. Her Bill wore it in the dark. Her Hermione wore it when she told Ginny she was going to the Yule Ball with Krum. Her Luna wore it all the time. Now, Harry's wearing it in front of her. And somehow, she knows why he's wearing it.

He's going to open his mouth and turn their weeks of affection and love and care into nothingness.

This is supposed to make her sad. This is supposed to make her eyes look downcast, her chin tremble, and her face like it's about to burst into tears. But – all she can feel is the melancholy feeling of acceptance, and for some reason, it strikes something deep in her. Not like the merpeople song, but something more like the phoenixes.

Like it's healing her. It's called breaking up, but Ginny can't help but feel like she's being _put back together again._

Its strange, how she goes from puppy love to just love to no love, and it's the weirdest kind of cycle she's ever tried to ride, but it's always been worth it. As long as she was able to look into green eyes, everything can be alright for her. Everything will be alright for her.

Harry's opening his mouth now.

* * *

"Oh, mum, can I go on the train and see him, mum, oh please…"

"You've already seen him Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really Fred? How do you know?"

Why won't they give her what she wants?

* * *

_**End**_

* * *

Well, I guess this proves it. When I'm in a weird mood, not only can I do major OOC and make my characters seem like a Drama queen, but my one-shots just come out _ridiculously_ long. This is almost 19 pages on Word.

By the way, please take no offense to the bashing I put in this fic. It's technically not really bashing, as this is all through Ginny's POV, and it's not like she's exactly wearing rose-colored glasses. Besides, I happen to honestly like Hermione, Sirius, and Mrs. Weasley a lot, and Cho isn't that bad, just has a bad case of the blues. Michael's… actually, Michael's just a git. Oh well.

And no, I do not believe Ginny would actually feel/act this way in the books. Perhaps she's like this in a few moments, but this is MY perception of the girl. Not JK Rowling's.

Anyway, now that I've left you feeling substantially confused and discontent with the HG breakup (really sad, since I'm a major supporter of the pair), how about you drop a little review telling me just how much you love –or hate– me? Please.


End file.
